


Advantage May!

by Axolotl7



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, Bratting May!, Caring, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom Phil Coulson, Dom Victoria Hand, Dom/sub, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, No Sex, Power Play, Sub Melinda May
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axolotl7/pseuds/Axolotl7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victoria Hand has a reputation for taking no prisoners, both as a Shield Agent and as a demanding Domme. </p><p>Melinda May has her own reputation. She won't go down easy.</p><p> </p><p>A clash of wills we never saw between Victoria Hand and May when Coulson was captured by Centipede in The Magical Place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was challenged to do a D/s fic with no sex… aaaaannd so here it is.

She can’t afford to be out of the loop on this one.

It’s too important. _He’s_ too important.

Coulson is taken, captured. A prisoner of Centipede. That they’ve taken him alive can only mean they have plans to torture him for information. Every second she wastes here and now is another second of pain for him, another second closer to breaking or closer to death. She can’t afford to waste any time.

She can’t afford to let Hand waste time either but as a subordinate agent several rungs down the ladder from Hand she can’t simply walk into a closed briefing room to push her opinions. She’s not invited. None of their somewhat unorthodox team is. Hand will not be receptive to her barging in to a closed briefing even if it is taking place on her plane. Hell, knowing Hand’s reputation she might send her to a brig and then she’ll have absolutely no way of expediting the search for Coulson or getting in on the rescue op.

She doesn’t have time to play politics. She needs in. Now.

 

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“Enter”

She manages to contain the scowl, keeps her face carefully blank, when she enters to find Hand sitting in place at Coulson’s desk. On Coulson’s chair. Using his computer. His pens.

“Agent May,” Hand greets her, the consummate professional. “I wasn’t aware we had a meeting scheduled.” 

First volley: imply that she requires an appointment, that she’s done something wrong and attempt to put her on the back foot even before the conversation starts. 

Oh she could reply so many things to that opening gambit: 

Apologise, offer to come back another time as Hand rushes to reassure her that she has the time to see her just this once ( _it’d leave Hand feeling empowered, if she believes she has the upper hand then she’s likely to be more receptive and easier to manipulate_ ); 

Refute the need for her to arrange meeting, this is Coulson’s office and what she has to say won’t wait ( _aggressive, argumentative, entice Hand into fighting back, wind her up so that she’s more likely to accept the victory as deserved when she later concedes another issue_ ); 

Turn it back on Hand, imply that she has an appointment, arranged it with Hand’s assistant and that the breakdown in communication is therefore Hand’s issue ( _unbalance, misdirect, push back but not too hard_ ); 

Acknowledge the volley and refuse to engage ( _“We don’t” but no apology, no explanation. Leave it for Hand to take that how she wishes. Hand’s not so rude as to simply instruct her to leave_ ). 

These and many other options she’s already thought out in advance of this meeting. Oh not the exact words of course, she’s no fortune teller, but the underlying feelings, the manipulative process and how she wants to try to work this... she’s been planning that for the last hour whilst Hand finished her closed briefing.

She chooses not to reply verbally, she’s never been much good with words anyway. This isn’t a battle she’ll allow to rest upon words alone when she’s ill-equipped compared to her opponent. She’ll fight her battle through actions, let Hand read into what she does rather than what she says. 

She closes the door ( _she means she’s no intention of leaving_ ). 

She turns the lock ( _this is serious and neither of us are leaving until you hear me out_ ). 

She walks the three strides over to the sofa to one side of Coulson’s desk without invite ( _she doesn’t need an invitation to sit on Coulson’s sofa_ ). 

She says nothing ( _she doesn’t feel the need to respond verbally to such a poorly concealed opening volley, its derisory even her silence, and she feels no need to exit, arrange an appointment or apologise_ ). 

She’s not stood to attention as befits a superior officer ( _a deliberate snub_ ) or even stood before Ha-Coulson’s desk awaiting acknowledgement ( _she’s not giving the woman any respect she doesn’t earn right here and right now_ ). 

Point to her.

She chooses the comfortable sofa over the chair by the desk for the many things it might communicate. The sofa is lower ( _it puts her much lower than Hand. Let’s face it, she’d have to stand on the table if she wanted to be higher, and she’s clarifying that the height difference doesn’t intimidate her. It’s far from the first time she’s been smaller than an opponent_ ), the sofa is to one side of the desk ( _it removes the obstacle from between them, mentally closing the distance she’d have to clear before being in a position to attack or removing from Hand a substantial barrier she has as a defence_ ), and it suggests a relaxation ( _she’s not concerned with Hand’s position of authority or her implicit threat_ ). Overall, she is not afraid.

Even as her mind confirms very much her need for ... caution... let’s call it, around this amazon of a woman, this overly strict, pain-inflicting loving Domme.

Counter: Hand deliberately ignores her, concentrating back on the paperwork on her desk, deliberately jotting down a few additional notes with one of Coulson’s pens ( _you are unimportant, your actions do not affect me_ ). Hand can speak this unspoken game as well. Probably better. She’s not certain but there might just have been the slight tightening of Hand’s lips, an almost hint of an attempt of a sort-of twitch of a smile? Or irritation.

Hand’s simple ignoring of her blatantly flouting bad behaviour both to a known Domme and to a superior officer makes her wonder briefly if the rumours of her harsh and over reactive discipline have been exaggerated. She’d been expecting a much straighter response – anger or irritation causing a lashing out even if only verbally so that she could respond in kind. 

But Hand’s silence was not planned in to her equations. Hand’s ignoring her could be one of three reasons ( _she wants to prove that she’s the one in control of their conversation, they’ll have this talk when Hand wants to and not before irrespective of anything she might do; she’s pointing out that she’s ignoring poor behaviour and will continue to ignore her until she behaves more appropriately, attempting to train her as well as highlighting her current poor training and therefore it’s reflection back on her current Dom, insulting Coulson by ignoring his unruly sub; or she’s simply trying to reflect back the slight irritation, making her wait whilst knowing that whatever she’s come to discuss is most likely urgent and relating to Coulson_ ). Maybe a combination of all three. The only reason she knows is most certainly not the cause of Hand’s sudden interest in making notes on the papers on her desk is that the report on her desk actually needs to be dealt with right this minute.

Defend: She waits anyway. She will not concede to any of the intended effects. She can wait. She stops her perusal of Hand, looks around the office at Coulson’s collectables and knickknacks ( _she’s unconcerned that Hand is ignoring her, she unconcerned with Hand at all_ ). She’s now the one ignoring Hand again, flipping it on its head ( _she’s in control of this meeting, Hand will need to speak to get her to acknowledge her presence and respond_ ). She’s looking everywhere but at Hand, even checking her nails to really throw down the gauntlet ( _she’s being intentionally rude, it’s not a failure of her training, not a failure of Coulson’s and Hand can damn well try to correct that if she wishes but she will fail_ ). She stretches briefly, lets her body sink even deeper into the worn sofa with a small sigh ( _she’s quite happy with the silence. She’s not at all irritated_ ). 

Hand watches it all from the corner of an eye as May watches Hand’s unclear reflection in the glass of Coulson’s collectables cabinet.

Stalemate.

 

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It’s been twenty minutes but Hand doesn’t show any sign of giving in, having flipped three pages over in the past few minutes and made more notes in the column of whatever report she’s reading.

Perhaps she can’t actually out wait the woman. 

The silence is only letting her thoughts wander – the collectables reminding her far too keenly of everything Coulson. It reminds her that for every second she sits here trying to play a stupid game of wills she’s likely outmatched in, is a second that he is probably being tortured. She inhales audibly but it’s insufficient to garner Hand’s visible attention from the papers though she knows full well that all of Hand’s attention is focused upon her actions irrespective of her seeming nonchalance.

“I want you to include me on the briefings about Agent Coulson’s rescue mission,” she says bluntly. She knows that by opening her mouth first she’s definitely lost this point but she hopes by opening the verbal she might still have some chance to win the war.

She’s pretty sure Hand reads the situation the same as she sits back in her chair – Coulson’s chair – fingers steepled before her, watching, considering her. She can feel the little hairs on the back of her neck start to rise under that steely regard. It’s as though the woman can see straight through to her thoughts. It’s unnerving to say the least. 

She shifts uncomfortably, realises she’s done so as Hand’s eyes narrow in on her and makes what was a small nervous movement into an intentionally big one, standing up and moving to lean back against the wall, legs crossed deliberately trying to project an aura of unconcern. She’s pretty sure that Hand is not fooled.

Second point to Hand.

She waits a little longer. The silence and those eyes are making her uncomfortable despite her best attempts to put them out of her mind. Hand’s eyes bore into her own, barely blinking and it becomes an effort to hold her stare, to avoid over blinking and giving away the effect Hand’s regard is having upon her. Her eyes are becoming dry and it’s only when Hand’s eyebrow rises that she appreciates with self-ridicule that Hand has been blinking regularly, normally, whilst she’s been attempting to show her nonchalance by not over blinking. She has in fact telegraphed her discomfort by staring to the stage where her eyes are now too dry. She knows even so that now Hand has cued the issue to the forefront of her mind she certainly can’t give it up, she can’t give in to the urge to blink and lose the game of out staring even if she was only playing against herself under these rules. It’s stupid but she’s embarrassed she’s been caught out and she will not outwardly concede that fact.

The smile creeping across Hand’s face behind steepled fingers is a little bit smug but she holds position, keeps her eyes open, challenging until they’re almost blurring the focus and she can hardly see Hand’s eyes looking back at her. Then she blinks. 

Blinks a number of times and tries not to show that she understands that’s now another point to Hand in their silent contest of wills. The glint to Hand’s eyes when she’s once again in focus says she knows it anyway.

Damn it. Three to Hand.

“Why should I do that, Agent May, when you’re so obviously compromised by your feelings for Agent Coulson?” Hand asks her directly, breaking the stare to shuffle papers about on her- _Coulson’s_ desk that probably don’t need moving at all.

“I am not compromised,” she refutes immediately without thinking. She’s not compromised by her feelings, she’s driven by them. She more than anyone knows how much they need to get him back. She more than anyone needs him back.

“Case in point: you have just barged into my office-”

“Coulson’s office,” she all but snarls back at her with an aggressive step forwards in threat. Point. Hand barely blinks at her response or her aggression, choosing instead to turn back her chair to face the desk, head bent down over her reports once more, completely ignoring May as she stands shaking lightly in tightly controlled fury.

The silence and the tension return. It’s indescribably frustrating to be ignored. She snorts at her own easy failure to play this silent game when it’s Coulson’s life at stake. Perhaps she is emotionally compromised where he’s involved.

If Hand’s waiting for her to give up or to apologise then she’ll be waiting for a while. She can out stubborn the best of them.

It’s several more minutes that pass in terse silence and she’s almost at the stage of either grabbing Hand’s shoulder to spin her around and make her have this conversation or ... at the point of apologising no matter the points she loses in their little contest of wills, she’s not quite decided which, when Hand stretches across to dial the phone. Hand is the one to push the issue to a head.

It’s a dirty move: “Get me the Hub. I want a level 8 priority line.” 

Bitch! She’s pushing this too far. She’s played the ace on this game. She knows that with such a statement May needs to leave the room. A level 8 call can only be heard by 8’s and above. May is 7. To be caught listening in, effectively eavesdropping on a secure call above her clearance level, is treason or thereabouts. That Hand placed the call knowing of her presence in the room won’t garner her any leniency.

Hand’s the advantage. She sighs audibly, walking around the desk making to leave. Maybe if she’s lucky Hand will call her back, engage in conversation and technically concede the point. If not, then she’ll have to stop at the door, concede that Hand has won on all points, apologise and hope to still be given the opportunity to press her point.

The communications officer comes on the line and Hand demands a connection to Hill. She knows then that this is simply another tactic to push her into losing their silent battle of wills. Hand’s call is only a ploy to get her response – Hill probably hasn’t been at the Hub in months, if not longer, as Fury prefers to keep her on mobile command units than sequestered down on a stationary base. 

Nonetheless, she shouldn’t be present whilst it’s a level 8 line even if it is only current the comms tech on the other end so she keeps moving to the door, certain now that Hand has overplayed her … well her hand, and will be calling her back any moment. She passes the desk and Hand barely glances up at her. She does happen to look down, however, eyes catching unintentionally upon the papers spread out on Hand’s desk. She would never dare attempt to read a report on another agent’s desk unless invited to do so, it could be classified above her clearance, but somehow her eyes just catch the corner... it takes a few moments for her mind to sort what she’s seen and her mouth to turn that into a response:

“My breasts aren’t that big,” she says in a too blank tone as she continues to walk towards the door trying hard not to crack a smile at the cartoon doodles Hand has actually been making on the reports. Point.

She waits for the pause, the inevitable static click that confirms the communication officer is back on the line.

Ambush: She reopens her mouth to continue, intending to talk over the comms tech when he comes back on the line to embarrass Hand: “And I don’t scream ‘I’m coming’ when I climax.” She turns round with that bombshell to look again at Hand, just the one eyebrow raised in amusement, she’s not so insubordinate as to smirk at the small victory, waiting for Hand to explain to the unfortunate tech just what the hell is going on. 

Game, set, and match if you please.

 

“Is that May?” Hill pretty much shouts down the line. Uh oh. She knows that tone. Great, now she’s in trouble with Hill too.

“Why yes it is, Commander Hill,” Hand answers charmingly smug. Cow! This is not how this little manoeuvre was meant to go. Hill was not supposed to answer and Hand is supposed to be embarrassingly scrabbling to provide an explanation. They are not supposed to be ganging up together on her. “Would you like to speak with her?” Car salesmen couldn’t hope to match the level of false charm that drips from her tone as she speaks with Hill.

“Put her on,” Hill snaps out.

Hand smiles at her, advantage Hand, and gestures to the speaker phone inviting her to take over and forcing her to move away from the door to be heard. “May here,” she confirms.

“Agent May,” Hill’s tone is like ice. It’s not a good start. “What level are you agent?”

“Seven, ma’am,” she confirms despite knowing that Hill already knows that.

“And what level is this call encoded?” Hill presses. She can so see where this is going. She really should have thought out the fact that above embarrassing Hand with such a comment she was still speaking on a level 8 encrypted call, totally forbidden for a level 7 agent and moreover that she was potentially speaking to the Deputy Director who probably had a lot more on her plate to deal with than one slightly irritated agent. 

“Eight, ma’am,” she answers, dread sinking to line her stomach with lead.

“Why are you on a level eight call, when you are a level seven agent, Agent May?” Hill demands even though she must know that there is no possible answer she can give to cover the situation and her breach of regulation.

“I apologise, Commander Hi-” she starts ready to confess and take whatever reprimand is coming.

“I’m afraid that’s my fault, Maria,” Hand interrupts. Her eyes cut across to Hand in unveiled surprise. She did not expect Hand to cover her back like that. In fact she expected Hand to be gloating in victory as she was slapped down by the Deputy Director and then happily send her off to the brig. “I didn’t actually expect you to be at the Hub, I thought you were mobile.”

“Just got back recently. I’m here for three weeks then on rotation back in the skies. So if you didn’t want to talk to me, what did you want?” Hill asks amused rather than furious now that Hand is speaking.

“It seems that Agent May has been a little unsettled with Agent Coulson’s abduction. I was attempting to get her to tell me what was wrong.”

“By phoning me? Really am I that big a threat?” Hill demands

Hand scoffs and its an answer in itself but she still speaks “No, I was actually hoping that she’d follow the rules as soon as I placed a call above her clearance but-”

“But she’s Melinda May,” Hill breaks in understanding all at once the problem. Two very head strong people, both upset about a missing agent albeit one more so than the other, stuck in a pressure filled environment and clashing.

“I was actually going to say ‘but she’s not quite thinking clearly’ but I think you get the picture,” Hand says shooting a smile her way even as she glares back across the desk. She’s thinking perfectly clearly thank you very much.

“Melinda?” Hill questions but both the change to her first name and the drastic change in tone have her appreciating that Maria has changed roles on her.

“Yes, mistress,” she answers appropriately respectful.

“Tory will hold you tonight,” Maria orders without explanation.

“No,” May refuses succinctly, deliberately forgetting the honorific.

“Don’t disrespect me, Melinda,” the Mistress suddenly shouts down the line and it does make her flinch before she controls herself, “Or I’ll order a quinjet up right now to fly over there and beat your ass ‘til you cry and beg me to stop.” Maria pauses for a moment to let the threat really sink in. Maria knows how to deliver all manner of threats and promises to best effect. “And don’t you tell me ‘no’ either, Melinda,” she adds as though the refusal is a far lesser crime in her mind that failing to address her properly. She sighs then before continuing, “You know that I’m one of the few that Phil trusts to wrangle with you, Melinda. As much as I’d like to fly out there now to hold you there are things in play here that I am needed to deal with.”

“I don’t expect-” May starts to respond but Maria interrupts so she falls silent respectfully.

“You might not. You ask too little of everyone but yourself, Melinda. Now, I _trust_ Tory with you. Will you sub to her tonight?”

“I don’t need to-”

“I don’t care what you think you need, Melinda. I am telling you as your Mistress-”

“Phil is-”

“As your _substitute Mistress_ in Phil’s absence that you will let Tory hold you tonight. Do you understand?”

“I understand, _Substitute_ Mistress. But there is no way in Hell that I-”

“STOP! Just stop. Before you get yourself into any more trouble, Melinda, let me ask you this: what would Phil want you to do?”

“He certainly wouldn’t-”

“Would he want you left alone when you’re upset or would he want a trusted Domme to take care of you when he can’t?”

“I’m not ups-”

“Would Phil want you left alone or taken care of?” Maria pushes firmly.

Damn it. Maria’s always played a little dirty. She looks down at the desk, a natural submissive response even when she knows Maria can’t see her.

“How do you best serve your Master, Melinda? By throwing a tantrum when people are trying to care for you or maybe by doing as you’ve been told?” There’s no need for her to rub it in any further.

“I’ll sub for Agent Hand,” she concedes quietly and looks down at the floor, she can’t bare to see Hand gloating about this turn of events.

“Tory?”

“I’ll take care of her,” Hand promises.

“Melinda?”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Try to behave,” Maria says firmly exasperation clear in her tone.

 

“You’re collared?” Hand asks as soon as Hill terminates the call.

“Yes.” She avoids the honorific. Avoids looking at Hand at all.

“Let’s let that slide for now but we will come back to how you properly address me shortly,” Hand continues tone amused but threat implied nonetheless. Her eyes narrow in response, it’ll take a hell of a lot more than Hand has to offer to make her call her Mistress. “For now, you can simply collect your Master’s collar and wrist cuffs. Prepare yourself and be back here in fifteen minutes. Try to bring some of that respect I’m sure Coulson’s drilled into you with you.”

She’s dismissed. She turns and leaves the office without saying a word and deliberately not looking at Hand. This is not how she planned the meeting ending.

Damn it! 

 

Advantage Hand.

 

 

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

She needs to sub for Hand. 

She’s been instructed to do so. 

She’s even agreed to do so. 

But it’s not exactly something she’s looking forward to doing.

Hand is known to be a harsh task master, to push hard and take no prisoners along the way. Her reputation throughout the agency as well as the inner scene circles is that she is to be respected and, slightly, feared. She’s an amazon of a woman, uses her tall stature to her advantage, adding heels even though she already towers over most agents, using it to intimidate even when unnecessary. Hand controls people like minions - respect demanded, obedience required.

As much as she knows rationally that she will be able to physically take whatever Hand comes up with, Hand can only go so far as she allows after all, she also knows that Hand is an expert at the mental aspect. Hand sees too keenly, she understands too much and pushes with the sharpness a scalpel, surgical strike aptly named, to slit open a person’s mind, thoughts stripped and laid bare to her perusal. Hand could push her to her limits, could dig too deeply into her psyche. She’s not a fan of people digging too deeply.

It’s one of many reasons why she’s stayed back, why she’s hesitated to sub for Hand, to add her to her short list of acceptable Dom/mes to play with. 

She submits to lose herself a little, to let go and let someone else be in charge, make the decisions, take care of things. She only subs to those she trusts absolutely. The list is short. She doesn’t want to let go to Hand. She doesn’t want Hand to break her down, doesn’t want to lose herself in the sensations and show weakness to someone like Hand. 

She doesn’t trust Hand not to abuse that power… but she trusts Maria. Maria’s judgement of people’s character is usually accurate.

Usually.

 

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“I’m here and I’ll submit to you but I want in on the Op to rescue Coulson,” she demands as soon as she re-enters the room. She’s been ordered to submit and she will but she’s doing it on her terms. Some good will come from her sacrifice.

“You’ve come to whore yourself to me to get in on the operation to go after Centipede and Agent Coulson?” Hand sounds more astonished than angry but both are clearly present when she speaks. No, scratch that – definitely more angry than astonished as she continues, standing from the chair to use her height to its fullest effect. “I do not need to pay for whores. Not in money and not in favours. And if you think that I would be so easily swayed as to-”

She interrupts before Hand works herself up to ordering security to the room to remove her. “That was not my intention.” It wasn’t. Not exactly anyway. She just thinks if Hand’s going to get to break her down and go digging about her mind finding weaknesses then the least she should get out of it is onto the mission to rescue Coulson. Then everyone gets something from this situation.

“Then explain it to me, May, and it better be good because if it’s not then you’ve just tried to bribe a superior officer,” Hand growls back at her.

“I don’t deny that I’d be happy to get on the mission but I’m not offering my body in an attempt at bribery or whatever else you might think.” She scoffs. “I don’t value myself that highly.” She walks closer, deliberately threatening to make her point, eyes flashing. “Quite frankly, your assumptions insult us both.”

Hand considers what she’s said for a moment. Nods. “I apologise.” 

Waits pointedly.

“I have no need to apologise for your mis-assumption,” May responds calmly when it becomes clear that Hand doesn’t intend to continue speaking.

“Oh you’re just begging for a spanking aren’t you,” Hand threatens amused.

“What if spanking’s a limit?” she pushes back, she’s no intention of letting this woman spank her like a child. She’d rather push her to a whipping. Well… she’d rather neither but better to take the pain than the humiliation when she’s no knowledge… make that too much second hand knowledge from gossip as to this woman’s proclivities.

“Then I’ll come up with a punishment within your limits.” The ‘of course’ is heard even if she doesn’t verbalise it.

“What if I don’t want to be punished at all?” she challenges.

“Then you shouldn’t have been bratting at me for the past hour,” Hand retorts immediately.

“You started it,” she retorts even as her own mind snorts at the childish level of her answer. 

Hand concedes the point anyway with a tilt of the head and a smile. “And you should have handled it better.”

“It got your attention.”

“For the wrong reasons. Disobedience does you no credit, May.” That’s true enough but it’s nowhere near enough to stop her pushing back.

“It’s not disobedience if you haven’t told me to do anything yet.”

Hand thinks for a moment’s pause. “Very well.” Watches her, considering with that too searching regard. “Kneel.”

She was expecting to be told to strip and kneel. It’s fairly traditional after all and it would drive home the inequality in their positions, her vulnerability. Is only asking her to kneel a miscalculation or a deliberate manoeuvre to lure her into a false sense of security before whipping the metaphorical rug out for under her?

She hesitates for the merest beat to make clear her protest, then allows herself slide down to her knees where she stands. She doesn’t know this Domme and she’s not certain about what she expects from the too brief command. Had it been Phil, she’d know he meant for her to move and kneel down before him, legs spread, head up but eyes down, submissive. Izzy would berate her for spreading her legs when she kneels ‘like a common whore’ but then it seemed Izzy would find any excuse to take her to task. Maria would want her to drop to her knees immediately where she stood. Maria issued commands and expected absolute obedience to her exact words. If she wanted her to move around the desk to kneel then that’s what she’d damn well order. She’s banking on Hand being a little closer to Maria’s type as she kneels in place but keeps her knees together - she doesn’t want to risk being named a whore if Hand’s any inclination to talk down to her, she’d rather be called out on not spreading her legs if that’s what Hand wants. It also gives her the excuse not to move closer to Hand, to keep her distance physically from the threat even if it’s not a physical threat.

She waits for Hand to say something. This silence isn’t about a clash of wills, she’s trying to be respectful and give the subservience due a Domme. She’ll wait patiently however long it takes as Hand’s eyes roam about her huddled form. She starts at that internal description, realising only now how easily she’s made it for Hand to read her concerns from her body language.

Hand chuckles lowly and the sound of her footsteps confirm that she’s rounding the desk to approach.

“I’m not going to eat you, May,” Hand says, amusement lacing her tone. 

She’s embarrassed at being so easily read, that’s her only excuse for her cocky “pity” that comes out in challenge.

“Your mouth is cashing cheques I’m not sure your body is ready to pay,” Hand says almost sounding concerned. Hand’s finger under her chin encourages her to lift her head, look into Hand’s eyes to find her knelt in reflection of her own position. She didn’t think the woman knelt full stop. “Whilst I’d delight in taking you up on that ill-thought-out offer... if you’re taking spanking off the table then you are most certainly not ready for me to send you soaring.”

Hand reads her like a book, this is what she fears. Hand sees too much. She casts her eyes away quickly, shaking Hand’s grip quickly and lowering her head to one side. She’s not intending to be disrespectful but she can’t let Hand keep looking into her eyes, she feels too open, too vulnerable when Hand can seemingly read every thought going on behind them. Hand pauses for a moment, her hand left adrift in mid air, considering. Hand obviously comes to some sort of decision as she feels the palm settle on top of her head.

“Very well… we start afresh here and now. I will not punish you for anything before this moment when you offer your submission to me. I don’t intend to push any limits with you today so you are to tell me immediately if we even near one. Understand?” Hand asks calmly.

“I not stupid,” she snarks back. She appreciates even as she does it the stupidity of trying to wind Hand up again, especially when she doesn’t particularly want to be punished by Hand and has just been given a free pass for past transgressions… but here and now she fears far more than Hand hurting her physically. She’d much rather be on the offensive than the retreat.

“Let’s start with a gag for that clever mouth shall we, before it gets you into any more trouble?” Hand asks almost certainly rhetorically as she stands and walks away.

“How can I scream out ‘I’m coming’ like your little cartoon sketch if you gag me?” she calls after Hand’s retreating back but is seemingly ignored even though the suddenly tense line of Hand’s back confirms she’s heard perfectly clearly. Yeah, she’s being stupid to keep pushing at Hand, especially when she’s not sure she can deal if Hand actually snaps back.

Hand picks up the gag that apparently has just been sitting on the desk waiting for her to speak out of turn. That Hand has read her so easily is just as expected. If she’s no voice how can she defend herself? She stands as Hand closes the distance. She’s nowhere near Hand’s height but she wants the advantage of manoeuvrability that standing will give her. She ignores the voice in her head that tells her she’s disobeying, that she should apologise.

Hand’s quirked eyebrow at her standing is the only response to her movement.

She holds the ball gag up, dangling from one hand directly in front of her face. A combination of black and leather that is more purposeful than decorative. “Do you want to put it on or shall I?” 

“You want to wear a ball gag?” she snarks back without really thinking it through. If she’d sassed to Maria that way she’d spank her ass red until she cried and probably a little more just to drive home the point. If it were Phil he’d laugh... then come up with some crazily inventive punishment to make her regret it. She’s not certain what reaction she hopes her comment to elicit from Hand – maybe that she’s too much trouble to even bother with... that’d be nice.

Hand catches the dangling strap in her other hand, presenting the gag before her face, pressing the ball against her lips in silent instruction. An instruction she’s no intention of following as she seals her lips closed. Hand’s eyes flash dangerously down at her, boring into her own as she glares back.

“Open,” Hand instructs succinctly, a little irritation leaking through into her tone. She feels her own lips quirk into a slight smile, pleased that she’s getting under the woman’s skin and intent upon goading Hand further.

“Or...?” she challenges, moving her head back and away from the gag that was pressing against her lips.

“Or we re-introduce the idea of a spanking to the equation,” Hand comes back quickly.

“A spanking? Haven’t I worked my way up to a whipping yet?” she pushes back trying to manipulate a little where this evening goes. She’d much rather take the pain of a whipping than the humiliation of a spanking from this woman. She can brush off the pain much more easily come the morning.

“No, Melinda,” Hand says almost sadly with a shake of her head. “The last thing you need right now is a whipping.”

“Your loss. I’m told I’m lovely screaming in pain,” she goads again. Maybe if she can push enough buttons Hand will find a whip anyway. Rumour has it Hand likes inflicting pain. If she keeps at it maybe she can run this evening the direction it needs to go. She can handle the pain. And anything would be better than breaking to this woman. Anything. 

“I’m sure you are. But not today,” Hand replies with a small snort of what could be amusement but her mind is already moving on to its next plan.

Anything? Change of tack. If Hand wants a willing sex slave then that’s exactly what she’s getting. Sex she can do. She’s good at it. She’d much rather steer this to sex than give Hand even another minute to try to dig down into her mind. She doesn’t bother to try to slink, she’s never been much good at subtly arousing. She prefers straight forwards.

She closes the distance between them with a step. Anything is better than letting Hand break her down. She ignores the surprise on Hand’s face as she presses her own body against Hand’s, rubbing lightly as she looks up through her eyelashes trying to put forth the facade of submissively seducing. She reaches up to press a kiss against Hand’s lips, arms twining about the back of Hand’s neck to pull her down close enough to reach. The woman’s like a bloody mountain, towering over her even in her boots. “Or you could fuck me until I scream with pleasure,” she whispers, she hopes hotly against still closed lips, eyes flickering up to try to gauge Hand’s response. She presses her lips back against Hand’s again, flickers a tongue out across the stubbornly closed lips seeking to tempt Hand into a response.

“Melinda, stop,” Hand orders pulling back slightly but it doesn’t fit in with her intentions here. She’s found a far better way to steer this evening away from letting Hand inside her head – sex then sleep and she can wake up and brush it all off in the morning. She groans and moves against Hand’s body sinuously. She breathes heavily against Hand’s neck, she can just barely reach on tip toes, lays a trail of light kisses at the skin showing just above where the collar of her shirt rests. She smirks to herself when Hand gasps, finally giving her a response that says she is most definitely successful in her plans to turn this towards sex instead of submission.

She reaches a hand down between their hips, forces fingers between tightly clenched thighs seeking to push another step forwards with her plan of self-preservation. Her own wrist is caught before she can reach her target. The grasp on her wrist is harsher than it needs to be as it’s pulled from between them. Hand glares at her and she momentarily glares back before looking quickly down and schooling her expression into a more pleasing visage. “No, Melinda,” Hand says firmly. Adamantly.

“Please fuck me, Mistress,” she whines in the most needy and pathetic tone she can muster. A last offensive strike: “I need you,” she tries pushing herself back against Hand’s unresponsive body.

Hand just laughs at her. It’s enough to bring her attempts at seduction to a resounding halt as she spins away from the woman, breaking the grip Hand holds on her wrist easily with the force of her anger. She’s insulted and annoyed. Humiliated. There’re more than a few people who’d take her up on the offer to fuck her, especially when she’s being so brazen about it. Hand is just apparently not one of them. Well that’s just fine.

“You are not in control here, Melinda,” Hand says as she straightens up her clothes. “I am not going to be sleeping with you. Not tonight. So put that idea firmly out of your thoughts.” Yeah, she gets that loud and clear thanks. Hand has made it more than obvious that she isn’t attracted. It doesn’t need to be mentioned further. She feels like an idiot. Humiliated at being rejected.

“You told Maria that you would sub to me tonight, did you lie to her?” Hand asks quietly.

“I’ve offered you my back to whip and my body to fuck, what more do you want?” she growls back refusing to turn around but immediately on the offensive again. Of course she didn’t lie to Maria. She’s not dishonest if she can help it and she wouldn’t lie to Maria about something like this - she doesn’t make promises if she doesn’t intend to keep them.

“I want you to open your mouth and let me gag you,” Hand replies without a hint of irritation in her tone. It’s frustrating that Hand isn’t equally frustrated! That Hand’s the one with more control over her tone of voice, over her body and probably her emotions. Huh, and she’s the one that gets called a robot. If only. “As I have already instructed: ‘open your mouth’. Do you intend to comply with my instruction or did you lie to Maria?” Hand presses again.

“I didn’t lie,” she spits out through a clenched jaw, spinning to pin a glare of hatred on the woman.

No, she didn’t lie! The allegation is an insult! Maria told her to sub for Hand and that’s what she’s doing here and now. If she’d lied about that then Hand would never have got her back in the room. She agreed to submit, she didn’t agree to go down easy... but her mind does finally catch up with her actions. Blatant direct disobedience like this is uncalled for. Hand has done nothing to deserve her disrespect other than be the unfortunate Domme tasked with dealing with her because she’s the closest. She shouldn’t take her fears out on Hand by deliberately disobeying a clear instruction.

‘Well?’ Hand’s raised eyebrows and measuring stare seem to ask.

She opens her mouth and lets Hand pop the ball of the gag behind her teeth even though she seethes at it. She holds position despite her distrust as Hand walks behind her to do up the buckle tightly enough that she can’t push it out but not so tight as to be unduly uncomfortable on the corners of her mouth.

Advantage Hand, her thoughts report drolly.

“Good girl,” Hand praises genuinely enough but its water off her back, it doesn’t break the shield she’s erected around her personal thoughts. She’ll comply but she will not let Hand break her down. She will not surrender her inner self or her private reactions to this woman.

“Strip,” Hand instructs immediately but rather than watch as she does so to humiliate her further, Hand simply turns away walking back across to the desk and around it to sit down on the chair. She’s not been told to make a show of it and has no intention of doing so even had she been told so she strips down efficiently, folding her clothes into a neat pile on the floor beside her, boots on top. She leaves on the cuffs and her collar. She’s been specifically told to bring them with her after all and there’s no other purpose she can discern than for her to be wearing them. They’re a reminder that she’s another’s – both to herself and to Hand. But that she’s already chosen to wear them is a not so subtle ‘fuck you’ to the woman’s domination. It’s one Hand seemingly takes no notice of as she simply gestures her to approach the desk.

She stands before the desk, sulky and not incredibly happy with the situation. She’d like to make a comment, to push hard back against the vulnerability she feels, but the damned woman has already removed that defence from her arsenal. No, she’s not defeated simply by a gag. She will not allow it. This is a challenge is all. 

She’s sure she can be just as frustrating without words. She quirks her head sideways with a raised eyebrow, not letting on just how much the inability to speak bothers her. She doesn’t give Hand a chance to get the first words in, well no, Hand’s words are the first words but she’s definitely the first one who says something. As much as its not verbal, there’s no mistaking her meaning, her challenge when she raises her arms shrugging her shoulders up out to her sides in a faked nonchalance questioning ‘what now’ as thought being naked and gagged at Hand’s mercy is an everyday occurrence. Rather than something that sets her stomach to butterflies and her heart to racing. 

 

It’s not her, this pushing through childish gestures – she knows it’s not. Her defences are physical, verbal when absolutely necessary but if Hand’s not attacking then she can’t defend and with this stupid gag she can’t even protect herself with words.

But maybe childish is what she needs to force Hand to send her away. After all, standing here silently even ignoring Hand is just not going to cut it.

She needs to be so annoying that she pushes this either to straight pain, which she can handle, or to Hand’s capitulation. She needs to be too much trouble to bother with. She needs to channel someone incredibly annoying... Skye? No, more childish... Stark! Yes! Hand would never be able to hold off whipping if she came up against Stark’s attitude.

 

“Oh stop being ridiculous,” Hand snaps and it is almost a relief to discover that her actions are finally having the desired effect. She’d smirk but the gag is a little bit of an inconvenience to properly communicating even that as it stretches her lips so she settles for a cocky wink just to really throw down the gauntlet and wind Hand up.

“If you keep pushing at me, Melinda, then I am going to push back,” Hand threatens and as much as that scares her she forces her lips to stretch further around the gag to try to show she’s smiling. She’s not going to let Hand see anything she doesn’t want to show. Offence is the best defence after all.

“Stop grinning at me, Melinda. It’s disrespectful,” Hand instructs and she does so, mind racing quickly for an idea to further push Hand that doesn’t require her to speak. It hits her, she raises her arms out open wide lifting imaginary skirts and curtseys lowly with her head turned down to hide her emerging smirk.

“Melinda, you are pushing it,” Hand says to the back of her head. There’s a hint of irritation there again as well as exasperation. Good. Maybe she’s getting close to Hand moving from her current annoying position of controlled Domme. Maybe she can wind Hand up enough to say ‘enough!’ Maybe she can get out of this.

“Come kneel before you do anything else foolish,” Hand instructs shortly. It’s time for the piece de resistance. She drops to her knees where she is despite knowing from the phrasing that Hand means for her to come around the desk first. She bows down low over her knees, genuflecting with her forehead to the floor. It’s not quite enough she decides before throwing her arms over her head to lay on the ground, bowing down to the almighty Hand! If this doesn’t break her, nothing will. 

She can hear the creak of Coulson’s chair as Hand shifts forwards to lean over the desk and looks down at her on the floor.

Definitely Advantage Melinda, she chuckles to herself!

Hand groans, actually groans! She lets her head turn so that she can peek up to see the effect. Hand is half standing, leaning over the desk, head down and eyes closed with fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose as she inhales seeking calm. She only half catches the words Hand exhales under her breath, “and she says no punishment.”

“Right. Corner. Now,” Hand states quite clearly without looking but with an arm pointing towards the corner of the room she presumably wants her to stand in. It just happens to be the corner that Coulson’s sofa rests against. She smiles to herself as a plan forms. Any minute now Hand will become frustrated enough that she sends her away. She can’t submit if Hand doesn’t want to top her after all.

She rises and walks across as instructed. The good little compliant sub. Then smiles and turns back to face Hand, letting herself half fall backwards onto the comfortable cushions, arms spread wide across the arm rest and back of the sofa, deliberately positioning herself entirely at ease for when Hand inevitably looks up.

“You just sat down on the sofa didn’t you?” Hand asks without looking up or turning around, no doubt she heard the thump as she threw herself down as intended. “Of course you just sat down on the sofa. Because that’s exactly what a good sub would do if sent to the corner in punishment,” Hand says sarcastically, before looking up to pin her with a glare that does make her feel a little guilty at her behaviour. It’s not like she’s disobeyed, she justifies to herself. She’s in the corner she was sent to, Hand said nothing about standing facing the wall once she got here.

When Hand doesn’t speak but simply continues watching her it makes her insides squirm. She’s doing nothing disobedient, she tells herself again as the hairs on the back of her neck twitch uncomfortably. She gives in to the urge to move, raising an arm behind her head to scratch at the irritation. Hand’s eyes narrow in on her movement, log it no doubt for the nervous gesture it is. She can’t quite force her arm to stretch back across the back of the sofa and it somehow ends up at her side, hand resting palm down on her thigh. The other arm follows suit without her really being consciously aware of the movement until it’s completed, until it’s too late to correct without looking more than a little ridiculous and drawing more attention to the fact that she’s moved from her brazenly confident position. She manages to force her legs to stay steady even though she can feel them trying to shake lightly with the urge to move. She tries to convince her traitorous thoughts that she’s no need to stand in the corner. She hasn’t. Hand didn’t even say stand. Oh fuck it! She stands. Turns her back to the threat, as every Shield instructor she’s ever met trains them not to do, and scowls at herself for it!

“Good girl,” Hand praises and it simply makes her glare even harder through the wall in front of her nose. Hand has no right to say that to her! She bites down hard on the gag in frustration.

It’s not even like it’s a punishment anyway, she tries to convince herself, just standing in a corner away from Hand is more like a prize than anything else. Maybe she can just spend the evening getting sent to stand in a corner. It won’t be the most enjoyable way to pass the time but it’s almost certainly better than letting Hand break her down.

She stands in the corner scowling for nearly ten minutes before Hand speaks into the silence, her fingers never ceasing tapping against whatever pad she’s working upon. “If you’ve calmed down,” Hand starts. Calmed down? She lets out an annoyed huff to make clear her thoughts on that little gem of wisdom. She’s hardly been angry. “Then you can come out of the corner and kneel over here,” Hand finishes the sentence. She’s half turned around moving away from the corner when her brain actually engages and she realises it’s not phrased as an instruction. She turns back to face the corner. She’d much rather stand over here than kneel before Hand. She hears the small sigh behind her, the slight squeak of Coulson’s chair as it turns probably to face her if the hairs standing up on the back of her neck are to be believed. “You can fight all you want, push me and test me, but I will not be walking away. I am going to care for you, Melinda. Even when it’s very clear that you’d rather I hurt you,” Hand says then she hears footsteps heading around the desk but away from her. She strains to hear more, a click of a clasp coming loose and a slight rustling is all. It could be anything. She wishes she could see - shakes her head slightly for being foolish and turns to look over her shoulder at whatever Hand is doing.

“Face the wall,” Hand instructs seemingly she’s simply been waiting to catch her looking and she turns back to face the wall a little annoyed at being so easy to predict but more frustrated at the fact that all she saw was Hand with her arms in a bag aka crap all! More rustling, a little light clanking that could be any sort of chains, nothing she can really predict into anything in particular. More clattering about makes her wonder if Hand’s doing it deliberately to work her up cos the bag really wasn’t so big that she should still be rustling about it looking for whatever she needs. She forces herself to ignore it, to let whatever Hand intends slide over her and off her back without touching her thoughts or emotions. “Where the bloody hell,” Hand whispers to herself still clattering about and it amuses her to such a degree that she almost laughs despite the situation.

Hand seemingly gives up in her search of the bag, marching up behind her swiftly enough that she tenses automatically in readiness for an attack. The strike comes to the back of her head and she moves quickly with the blow and away so that it barely touches, spinning in place arms raised ready to defend herself – but Hand is just blinking at her shocked with her own hands raised up in the space her head previously occupied. She knows her eyes are narrowed at Hand in suspicion, knows that she’ll meet any further movement towards her most likely with violence. She’s on edge and she doesn’t like it. No one should be able to have this much control over her emotions, no one should set her this much off balance simply by being present.

“I need to go and get something from my bags. I won’t leave you here gagged,” Hand explains watching her with caution. It’s sensible, safety wise. As much as she’s not bound and could easily remove it herself if there was an issue, Hand is probably right to remove it now if she’s leaving the room. “So?” Hand asks but she’s still not sure that she wants to lower her defences or turn her back to let Hand remove the gag. After another minute of stalemate Hand drops her arms to her sides. “Either turn and let me take it off or take it off yourself then,” Hand instructs and she knows that she will comply, even if she can’t quite decide which of the two options she can live with right now. She turns, dropping her own arms. It simply wouldn’t be right to remove the gag herself even if she can physically do it.

“Good girl,” Hand says quietly as her fingers unbuckle the gag from the back of her head. She grinds down on the ball at what she takes for a condescending comment. She’s complying in this one small thing. There’s no need for Hand to be rubbing it in. As soon as the ball pops free from behind her teeth she’s turning intent upon saying something stupid again but an unwelcome finger presses against her tightly pursed lips halting her before she can. “Remain silent,” Hand cautions, her eyes emphasising that she’s serious about compliance with this order. She’s still intending to speak as Hand turns on a heel and pretty much charges out of the office, calling back over her shoulder, “Be here when I get back.” That surprises her, she’d not even thought of leaving whilst Hand was out of the way but maybe she should have thought of it. It’s yet another sign of Hand’s abnormal ability to read people, a repeat of the reasons she is avoiding letting Hand take her down too deep for as long as possible.

She mooches whilst Hand is gone. She doesn’t want to remain standing in the corner, that would be ridiculous and would make it look too much like she cared what Hand thought of her. But she can’t bring herself to sit back on the sofa and feign a relaxation she doesn’t feel either. Coulson’s chair is obviously out, as is sitting on the floor. So she’s left standing. And as she doesn’t particularly want to stand before or behind the desk with the obvious interpretations that go in hand with each, she ends up doing a short circuit of the room.

The door hisses open without warning and she’s little time to consider how it will look, her standing naked in a collar and wrist cuffs in the office Hand is currently using, before Hand slides through the doorway removing the concern. Hand closes and locks the door behind her before quirking an eyebrow at her with a small smile. “Couldn’t decide where to settle?” Hand asks smugly. The woman sees too damned much, she glares back. 

“And no sarcastic come back?” Hand follows up with what can only be termed a smirk as she stalks into the room. The smirks drops quickly from Hand’s face when her own mouth opens to respond, but Hand is quick to interrupt with her right palm raised in silent instruction to stop, “Don’t! I apologise.” Yeah, she blinks in surprise at that too but it does make her close her mouth without releasing the comment she had ready. “I shouldn’t torment you when you’re behaving,” Hand says and oh how she’s just dying to say something back to the woman to knock them back into clashing wills. 

Hand moves to stand directly in front of her. “Hand,” the woman demands, her own hand placed palm up between them. She quirks an eyebrow at the instruction but the ‘Hand – hand’ humour is apparently only happening in her brain. She hesitates for a moment but she does comply, placing her own hand palm up in Hand’s. Hand drops a small cylindrical device into her palm, pushing her fingers to close around it firmly. “This is your safeword for the time you are gagged. You drop this it will make a noise that I guarantee I will hear loud and clear,” Hand says with an almost friendly smile. It’s puzzling this change in attitude to suddenly friendly and completely at odds with her reputation... she doesn’t believe it for a second. She won’t be lulled into a false sense of security. She knows the woman is a master of manipulation.

“I’m not gagged,” she states the obvious clearly but really it’s to just say something and therefore push the boundaries again.

“You will be in a moment,” Hand says but there’s no threat to the tone. It’s almost said as an afterthought as she stalks back over to her black bag. It’s puzzling. As is the fact that Hand’s not risen to the taunt of her speaking without permission and failing to address her correctly as a Mistress. Aren’t they fighting anymore? Hand moves to pull out whatever she’s located but stops before pulling the item from the bag, glancing back over at where she’s stood before smiling and moving he whole bag across with her to the desk. It’s stupid in her opinion, she’s going to find out sooner or later what Hand intends to use upon her so hiding the contents of the bag from her now hardly makes a difference. Hand may think she’s increasing the tension or whatever but she’s not.

Hand sits down in Coulson’s chair like she’s a God given right to sit there and she can’t hide the flicker of annoyance that crosses her face at that quickly enough. “He’d be happy for me to use his chair, Melinda, you’re being petty,” Hand says and a part of her knows that she’s right – Phil would never begrudge anyone anything. He certainly wouldn’t begrudge Hand temporary use of his chair and office whilst she heads up a mission to recover him. “Come round here, it’s time you settled down.”

She tries not to outwardly show how much the idea terrifies her as she walks with deliberately even steps around the desk to where Hand has indicated. “Turn to face away from me,” Hand instructs and she complies. “Wrists together.” She brings them together at her front with a small smile at her own genius. “Behind your back, please Melinda. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it has to be please.” Wow, two pleases in as many seconds. She must be getting to the woman if Hand’s now being overly nice to try to garner her co-operation. She moves her hands behind her, lets her wrists touch and is unsurprised when cold metal cuffs clamp shut over the softer leather of her master’s wrist cuffs. 

“Try to escape those please,” Hand requests rather than demands but she complies anyway, twisting and pulling until her right wrist scrapes free with a slight oath at the pain as she forces the issue. “Good,” Hand acknowledges shortly, unlocking the cuffs only to slide them back around her wrists again and lock them tighter. “Again,” Hand demands and she pulls until it hurts enough that she knows to escape these will mean dislocating something then relaxes, accepting that she’s bound well enough that she won’t simply slip them. “Can you escape?” Hand asks her directly.

“Yes,” she answers without explanation.

“Can you escape without injury?” Hand follows up and the poignance of her question reminds with stark clarity that this is not just any Domme but a trained agent like herself.

“No.”

“Good. Kneel please,” Hand asks and she does so, still facing away as she’s not been asked to turn around yet. She expects that instruction to be next on the list so is surprised when the chair is wheeled back away from her and additional metal cuffs are clamped about her ankles. Again they’re tightened and locked to one another but these she’s not asked to test. She can already tell from their tightness that she’s no hope of getting them over her heels. “Spread your knees slightly and sit down on your heels. Arch your back a little. Good,” Hand’s instructions are simple and it relaxes her mind to go along with them as she complies. Fingers across her wrists pulling her down confirm that Hand is connecting all four cuffs at the base of her butt, holding her essentially kneeling in position. She pulls lightly at the restraints hoping her testing to go unnoticed as Hand stands up to bring the chair back into position at the desk. But nothing goes unnoticed with this woman. “Try them out. Pull hard. Can you get loose?” Hand asks and she takes it for the challenge it’s probably not meant to be, pulling hard at the bindings, rolling over to her side so that she can bend backwards and get more range to really pull, twisting her wrists in the hopes that they’ll slide free.

She knows she’s pulling too hard, jerking too frantically, as the skin being rubbed sore complains at her but she can’t make herself stop as her breath comes more rapidly and everything becomes about escaping these cuffs. It’s as though if she can just get one arm free then she can walk away from this nightmare challenge, if she can just slip one … single … bloody … cuff …

“Any luck?” Hand asks charitably – it’s obvious there’s no bloody luck happening her end!

“Fuck you!” she’s riled enough by her own failure to swear at the suddenly no longer smirking woman.

She’s hauled by arms stronger than they look back up to a kneeling position by the desk, this time facing the desk’s three drawers, and not given time to wonder further as the ball of the black gag descends before her eyes. She doesn’t bother to push Hand through the same rigmarole as the previous time, just opens her mouth forcing a roll of her eyes, partially accepting it as punishment justly due for swearing at the Mistress but grateful for the distraction from her overwhelming need to escape.

As much as she doesn’t want Hand touching her she does miss the touch as the gag is buckled back in place and the hands leave her. She pulls again at the cuffs binding her wrists and ankles. She knows that she’s panicking slightly. She can tell from the raised heartrate pounding through her ears, can objectively note her lack of ability to focus on anything except the tightness of the cuffs, the sharp edges digging in to her hands as she pulls again, harder. She’s bound defenceless and unable even to shout for help if Hand goes too far.

She tries not to let Hand see her panic, tries keeping her breathing steadily even, holding herself firmly in position and keeping her eyes focused but not too wide even as her heart races, each thudding beat louder than the last. 

But Hand sees everything. It’s exactly why she fears submitting to the woman - she sees too damned much. 

She pulls again. Pulls hard. She can almost reach to dislocate her thumb. She’s close enough to the edge to think it a good idea to do so too. 

Hand moves, presumably to stroke her cheek in an attempt to calm her. She sees it as an attack - her adrenaline is up too high for movement towards her by this opponent to be anything but something to fear. She flinches away, violently enough that she ends up toppling over to her side, lying still tightly bound but looking up at Hand’s outstretched arm in surprise. It shocks both of them and makes very clear how little trust May actually has in the situation. 

“Easy,” Hand says calmly, raising both hands to where May can easily see them, “let me remove the gag, then we’ll talk.” Melinda looks down ashamed at her easy fear, her panic. She knows better than to let something like this panic her. She’s a specialist. She’s more than capable of taking whatever tortures Hand devises. Giving in to her panic, showing weakness after only being bound and gagged is embarrassing. She holds still as Hand moves around her to the floor, manages not to flinch when she touches her head.

“I’m sorry,” Hand says quietly as her fingers unbuckle the gag from the back of her head, sliding across her cheeks as they come back around to prise the ball from behind her teeth, removing it with the assistance of her tongue pushing it away. “I didn’t realise binding would near a limit for you. I’ve seen you scene before in far more rigorous bindings. Wh-”

“It’s not a limit,” May confirms as soon as she can speak, looking down at the carpet as humiliation turns her cheeks red. Swift fingers release the cuffs next, rubbing gently at her sore wrists until she pulls away.

“Then tell me what happened,” Hand invites gently coaxing. Before now, she wouldn’t have thought Hand could say anything gently or even knew how to coax but here she is doing both quite proficiently if her desire to answer Hand is anything to go by.

She bites her tongue, outwaits her in the silence. 

Hand sighs. “Okay then. If you don’t want to tell me and it’s not a limit, then put the gag back in,” Hand instructs, grabbing for her own left hand, placing the ball gag in her palm and pushing fingers to close around it. Hand moves away then, leaves her kneeling there with a decision to make.

She trusts Maria’s judgement enough to be here but does she trust her judgment enough to submit to Hand?

When she decided to submit to Hand it was because it’s what _he_ would have wanted her to do. Not because Maria told her to but because yes, he’d be upset that she hadn’t slept and yes, he would want someone he trusted to take her down so that she could rest more easily. She will stick with that, nothing has changed. He’d still want her to submit. She will do so.

She’ll do so even though it scares her how much Hand may tear her apart, how low Hand may take her down, how she’ll find every little crack of weakness and exploit it, tear her asunder to find more. She’s not even sure Hand will attempt to put her back together again afterwards.

She shudders but Hand says nothing. When her eyes flick up, Hand is pretending to be engrossed in a report back at the desk. She’s certain that’s not all Hand is reading in the silence. She looks down at the gag in the palm of her hand. Fully bound she’s vulnerable. She has to rely upon trust. It’s a trust that she does not have and does not wish to extend to Hand. 

She tries to convince her mind that Hand will not hurt her. That simply removing her ability to speak doesn’t prevent her from calling a halt to this. She can stop at any time. She knows this. She has a safe…thing for precisely that reason. Hand stopped just now, she’ll stop again if asked. Even if Hand doesn’t stop then she is more than capable of stopping her physically if necessary. She can stop at any time so why then does she fear so to be within Hand’s power? 

She doesn’t want to trust the woman. She doesn’t trust her not to use her own responses against her. Doesn’t trust that Hand is someone she can cry in front of or beg or become aroused. She doesn’t trust Hand, that’s what it comes down to after all. Trust.

But Maria trusts Hand. 

She trusts Maria’s judgement. 

More than that, Phil trusts Maria’s judgement.

She puts the gag on again. 

She can do this.

 

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“Kneel here beside me. I have a lot of work to do as someone interrupted my afternoon,” Hand says as though there’s been no interruption, re-trapping her wrists and ankles in the cuffs. She breathes deeply, calmly. She will not panic this time. “Whilst I work, you think. Think about what your master would want from you. Think on what he’d do to bring you down if you were this upset about someone else. (It’s on the tip of her tongue to refute that she’s upset but the gag prevents her from doing anything more than glaring down at the carpet between her knees). Think about where your limits lie with me, here and now. Decide what you can accept from me, not what you want but what you _can_ submit to. And what might work to calm you.”

She kneels and the familiar position helps. Kneeling here next to Coulson’s chair, the one plastic wheel pressing lightly against her lower leg, Coulson’s carpet in here as well as in his room is thicker, softer despite the fact that she knows he doesn’t care about material things like that. Remembrance makes her almost smile, she always does when she kneels on this soft carpet he’s chosen specifically with her comfort in mind. His desk drawers are directly in front of her eye line, the desk too high for her to see any of the papers on top. It lets him continue to work on whatever might be classified above her level whilst she can still kneel here calmly at his side, content just by the surroundings and his presence. But he’s not here.

He’s not here.

She is.

This demon of a Domme who can read into her very thoughts.

A shiver runs down her back and Hand immediately stops what she’s doing, the pen hitting the table with a light but obvious thunk before she turns Coulson’s squeaking chair to face her, rolling it back slightly so that her legs can fall to either side.

She tenses under the direct attention, keeps her head down unwilling to look up and potentially give Hand any more clues into her psychological make up. Her weaknesses.

Her body shivers again, it’s a reaction beyond her immediate control.

“Maybe letting you think wasn’t a good idea,” Hand muses leaning down to almost her level, watching her more closely. “Look at me,” Hand instructs but it’s the last thing she can make herself do. She can’t let Hand look into her eyes, can’t open herself to that. Hand sees too much without being given the window into her thoughts that too expressive eyes seem to give her. “Head up, look at me,” Hand says again and she shakes her head in silent refusal.

There’s a rustle as she presumably reaches over into the black bag that is still sitting ominously on the edge of Coulson’s desk. Cold fingers find her breast and although she initially jerks away she manages to control her muscles enough to make her body freeze in place. She ignores as Hand manipulates her body, tormenting her nipples into hardened peaks as she kneels there motionless and forcing herself not to react outwardly to the touches. The clamps are expected but they bite down more gently than anticipated. The bells swinging from them discordantly are not. The light tremor that wracks her frame from holding herself so tightly still is more obvious now, almost impossible to miss actually, as the light bells sound loudly throughout the room.

Her hair is pulled, head wrenched back without further warning, Hand’s eyes boring deep into her own slightly too scared ones as she speaks, “Concentrate on silencing the bells, controlling your reactions.” Then she lets go, lets her hide her face down behind a curtain of hair as her body shakes and the bells tinkle giving her away.

It takes a seemingly inordinate amount of time for her to bring the bells under some form of control but it does have the intended effect of forcing her to concentrate on controlling her body and not letting her thoughts run away with her fears. When she silences them for a prolonged period she feels much more calm, in control, breathing steadily she can relax a little more, drop a little further into the peacefulness that usually accompanies just kneeling.

“Good girl,” Hand says reaching out a hand to pet her hair but she dodges away bells discordantly bemoaning her harsh movement.

“Hmmm...” Hand says to herself but she’s no idea of the thoughts behind Hand’s eyes at her continued, albeit now unintentional, disobedience. The bells tell her that she’s shaking again, worse than before, and her heart rate is sky rocketing as is her upset, increasing with the lack of control over her own body. She usually prides herself on her control and yet here she is completely out of control over so little.

“We need to do something about your trust if I’m to help you, Melinda,” Hand says as she rustles back in the damned black bag again. She shakes more to think of what else Hand intends to force upon her, of what Hand intends to test her with and whether this will be what breaks her. Hand lowers objects to the carpet in front of her knees, deliberately moving what she’s chosen from her black bag of tricks into her eye line. She can’t stop shaking, can’t silence the bells, but she doesn’t release the cylinder slightly sweaty in her palm. She closes her eyes to the sight, if she can’t see it then maybe it’s not happening, and waits.

Hand is professional and seemingly detached as she rolls a blindfold down over already closed eyes. She doesn’t react. She stays knelt in place. She knows what’s coming when cold wet metal presses against her ass. “Relax,” Hand breathes as though the thought might not have occurred to her already but it’s easier said than done. She sighs as it slips up into her, the small ball pressing deep until the end of the hook presses cold and hard against her rim, the metal arm pushed flush between her cheeks and she swears that she’s shaking more from the cold than the vulnerability such an object creates. Her hair is brushed by hands almost soothingly and she breathes. She’s ready for the moment it’s twisted and pulled, tied and roped. “I told you to raise your head earlier, Melinda. I let you off with that but it was clearly a mistake. I won’t leave you anywhere to hide from me,” Hand says quietly. It might almost be reassuring if it didn’t threaten everything she fears. Nothing to fight, no way to escape and now not even the fallacy of letting her hide.

She doesn’t bend easily when her hair is pulled but when the pull comes on her ass she gradually concedes, raising her face and arching her back. She’s tied in place, hair to ass, preventing her from any movement except the shaking that still sounds too loud bells. She can feel a tear slide wetly down her face, hopes the blindfold will catch it.

She can’t move. She can’t speak or see. And now all her senses are blinded by the ringing in her ears. She struggles to cope.

She can’t see to avoid the hands that she feels on her skin. She knows that they’re attempt to calm her, to try to get her to settle down but it’s no use. She’s out of control. She rolls the cylinder around in her hand, tensing, thinking. She could concede now, call foul and leave. It would only mean admitting that she’s failed, that she’s lost, that maybe she is too compromised to deal with things properly, that she can’t take whatever Hand can give her after all. Her stubbornness won’t let her do that. Her need to be in on the mission to rescue Phil won’t either. That’s what she’s here for, she tells herself. She doesn’t entirely believe herself but it’s a better justification than that she might actually need this.

Hands guide her up, stronger than she’d thought as they pretty much lift her up, dropping her slightly until she’s kneeling atop presumably Hand’s lap. Her ass pulled back to rest against Hand’s hips, her bound hands crushed slightly between them giving the little distance her whirlwind thoughts require. Her head touches back against Hand’s shoulder, back still forced and held in a straining arch. She can feel as Hand wheels them forwards on the chair, feels as the edge of Coulson’s desk comes to rest against her stomach. She’s sat here so many times on Coulson’s lap. 

Hand just holds her there. One arm across her stomach keeping her pressed back in place. She can feel the slight roughness of Hand’s power suit against her skin where they touch, reinforcing her naked state by comparison. She can feel the pull of muscles in her back and the hook up inside her, a constant reminder of her vulnerability. Hand could do anything to her right now. Anything and she’s just… anything. 

“Shhh ... you can’t fight this now. I’m in control. Just relax and let it happen,” Hand whispers and she knows, she bloody well _knows_ that she can’t fight it. That’s the problem isn’t it. If she could fight even a little bit, hide herself behind words or actions, behind a brave front of defiance then there’s a chance Hand won’t bring her down. But here and now, with all her defences removed she’s vulnerable. Hand isn’t asking for her submission or even her obedience, she’s taking it. Hand’s making it impossible for her to resist, impossible to fight or to hide. Hand’s calling her on it - she can go along with it or safeword out but Hand is not letting her push back again. Her choice.

That’s what it comes down to after all. She’s put herself here, oh not physically bound herself, Hand did that, but she’s agreed to it. She’s still agreeing to it as she tightens already tight fingers harder around the now warm cylinder and refuses to let it go. It comes down to her trusting that Hand won’t do just anything to her. To trusting that Hand will only do what she wants… no, not what she wants. It comes down to trusting that Hand will give her what she _needs_. Even if she doesn’t know herself what she needs from this encounter.

The strain of her back forces her to take steadier breaths, forces her to regulate and control herself or risk hyperventilating at the inability to breathe a deep full breath. She can feel the hands running up and down her body, not sexual or attempting to arouse. Hand strokes her stomach, soothing and calming in circles, or her back trailing up and down in long steady strokes easily. It does calm her. The darkness and the inability to fight back forces her to calm down as much as it terrifies her to be so vulnerable. Even with Hand at her back, touching her when she can’t stop her from doing so, it steadies her. There’s no point in trying to resist once caught so tightly. When she can’t fight back the only option left is to concede.

She can hear or rather can no longer hear the bells as they silence and her body stops shaking out of control. She calms.

She breathes. Just breathes.

“Are you willing to trust me yet, Melinda?” Hand’s voice comes out of the darkness. She’s no way to answer bound so tightly and gagged but she presumes it to be rhetorical anyway. She’s not even sure of the answer herself if she could answer.

“You’ve fought and I’ve won. Now I demand your surrender.” Hand’s hand grabs her throat suddenly, inexplicably. Danger her body screams at her. Her heart racing, breath coming fast, too fast, body shaking lightly coiled with tension ready to explode or escape or do something other than just continue to sit here. Prey. Hand could kill her now. Hand could incapacitate her for certain before she could escape these bindings or call for help. She’s not even certain that the cylinder in her palm makes any noise after all. She can only go on what Hand has told her. If Hand has lied to her in any of this then ...

No.

She trusts Maria.

She can trust Hand. And really, there’s no reason for Hand to hurt her and her death would only raise a helluva lotta questions Hand probably won’t want to answer. She’s less worried about Hand killing her than about Hand taking her down.

She’s made her decision.

She stays.

She doesn’t even attempt to fight.

She concedes, lifts her head back further despite the ache, bares her throat more openly to that hand.

“Good girl,” Hand praises and moves the threatening grasp to a stroking finger running down her throat lightly threatening still. She’s relieved to have passed whatever test Hand intended.

Hand pulls gently at her collar. _His ___collar. Her master’s collar upon her throat. She strokes the line of her throat above where his collar sits as she speaks again, “your surrender is to your master. Always. It is his cuffs you feel upon your wrists. It is his collar you feel around your throat. His will that keeps you in place. It is to him you offer your submission and you honour him by fulfilling his wishes when he is not present. I am not your master. But I will care for you in his stead. I do demand your respect and I demand your trust. You will call me Madame when I allow you to speak again.” It’s the most she’s heard the woman say.

_She calms, exhales long and low, tilts her head further back to rest against Hand-Madame as her mind calms under the reassurances. She wants to believe, wants to trust. Especially now she’s so vulnerable. Now that she can’t fight._

"Good girl,” the Madame praises her again. She accepts the praise and deliberately relaxes all that she can with her back still held arched by the bindings and the hook in her ass. 

“Let’s let you sit more comfortably whilst I finish up what we need to do here,” the Madame says as she unties the knots from her hair, letting up on the pressure on her back and tying the ropes more loosely about her waist, securing the hook in place enough that it won’t fall out but having no effect upon her position other than the reminder that it’s there and that she can at any time be re-tied. Her ankles are unbound from one another though the heavy metal remains in place around each. She’s manhandled into sitting sideways across the Hand’s lap like a child, legs dangling foolishly over one edge of the chair, too short to reach down to the floor. Hand coaxes her to lean against her left shoulder, turning her inwards and pushing her head to lie in place. There’s a brief press, a silent instruction to stay even as the Madame’s arm moves to curl around her back, holding her close. 

_It’s more comforting than she’d like to admit to snuggle further into the Madame’s warmth, to nuzzle her head against her shoulder and be pulled in tighter. It feels good to simply be held. It’s not like she could have resisted it anyway, she justifies to her traitorous mind - bound, blinded and gagged she has no defence left to raise in the here and now. She’s glad of it, pleased that she cannot resist and ruin this moment of contentment._

The slight shuffle and the light tapping confirms that Hand has gone back to her work. She can feel tiredness creeping up on her now that’s she’s relaxed enough to let the adrenaline fade. Her thoughts don’t bother her when she’s unable to act upon them.

_The Madame could have done anything to her once bound and at her mercy... but she didn’t. She held her and she waited and she calmed her instead. She still holds her._

_Its... nice._

_Maybe she can trust a little…_

It’s not letting Hand win. 

It’s calling a temporary ceasefire.

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	3. Chapter 3

She’s been dozing happily enough for what could easily have been hours, lulled into relaxation by the palm casually stroking across her skin and the comforting background hum of the Bus in flight. She knows that it has probably passed into what would be considered evening from the darker darkness she can register behind the blindfold and the relative silence of the rest of the place. Most of the agents on board have probably found somewhere to sleep by now. Her lips quirk a little at the thought that she certainly has found somewhere to rest. If anyone had told her even a few hours ago that she’d be happy dozing naked on Victoria Hand’s lap, she’d not just have disbelieved them but probably would have also felt the need to correct them. Forcibly. 

She sighs lightly and wriggles a little, rubbing her cheek against the Madame’s jacket and nuzzling her head in closer. The arm around her back pulls her in tighter until she stops wriggling and settles down again with a light hmmm of contentment. It’s nice this. Just sitting here. Unable to do anything else because Hand won’t let her. So she just sits. Breathes. Accompanied only by the light tapping as Hand works away. The short pauses leading to periods of more attention, to both hands running up and down her body, soothing and caressing absent-mindedly as Hand thinks through whatever issue she’s encountered, before dropping away to continue the tapping of nimble fingers on a touch screen pad. 

She can rest here. She can’t fight when she’s bound so tightly. 

She can let herself be held. She can relax. 

Trust.

It’s easier when there’s no choice. 

She sighs lightly and rubs her chin against Hand’s jacket, reassured by the arm across her lower back that pulls her in tighter and holds her in place. It’s so peaceful just to submit.

She could quite happily stay here forever…

 

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“Do you want a drink?” Hand’s voice seems stark interrupting the silence out of nowhere. It takes her a few seconds to bring her mind back far enough from the soft place it has been floating to understand the question and put together an answer.

She nods against Hand’s jacket, too tired or too something else to want to move and risk disturbing the peace she’s found.

“Coffee?” Hand asks and her mind is very quick to answer that with a negative shake of her head. Bleurgh. Also, coffee at this time? Is the woman a machine? She feels Hand’s light chuckle through her body more so than hears it but doesn’t particularly care if Hand is laughing at her – either at the veracity of her response or her refusal to wake up properly and engage with the conversation. 

“Tea then?” She could go for tea. Something refreshing. Maybe with lemon. Or no, a fruit tea. One of the red berries would be just about perfect right now. She goes to nod, realises that yes and no answers isn’t really going to get her what she wants right now and very reluctantly raises her head from its more than comfortable pillow.

Cool fingers seek and find the edge of the blindfold, sliding it upwards and off her head. She blinks as her eyes adjust to the low light of the lamp on the desk. She takes a moment to appreciate the hands that are brushing the few hairs that have whisped up, carried along by the blindfold, settling them back down in place. 

Nothing in the room has changed. 

She didn’t really expect it to have done so. But everything about her seems to have changed since she last saw it.

 

“Feel better?” Hand asks, drawing her attention to the woman’s kindly smiling face. She nods with her head and her eyes, blinking lowly in confirmation. She still feels a little loopy. 

“Good. Tomorrow you can shadow me,” Hand says but it takes a few moments for her mind to register exactly what that means. If she’s by Hand’s side then she’s in the room, she’s in on the closed briefings, she’s in the circle of information she needs. She’s no way to communicate her appreciation behind a gag but she nuzzles against Hand’s shirt like a happy cat and is pretty sure Hand knows what she means – Hand sees and understands far too much after all, she thinks but this time it’s thought with rueful acceptance and maybe just a little happiness. 

Hand chuckles lightly at her antics before pulling her up again so that they’re face to face. “If you can maintain control over yourself then I will consider putting you on the op. But if I feel you’re losing control again then I’ll rescind my decision. I won’t let anything compromise this mission, not even you.” It’s said seriously and she nods seriously in agreement – she will not allow herself to compromise the mission. Nothing should compromise this mission. She needs him back. That Hand agrees is almost helpful – a second layer of support.

Hands reach up either side of her face, one cupping her jaw thumb stroking the side of her cheek and the other touches against her lips. She has a moment of shame as the fact that she’s been drooling enters her conscious mind, eyes flickering back to the wet patch on Hand’s jacket breast that can only have come from one humiliating source. 

“Hey,” Hand’s words and fingers redirect her gaze and her thoughts, “If I take this out do you become a hellcat again? Hissing and spitting at me?” Hand asks seemingly amused now by her earlier defiance. She thinks before she answers. Does she? She can’t deny that the enforced silence has kept her tongue for her. If that barrier is gone, is her mind going to feel the need to fight again? She doesn’t want to fight again. She wants to just stay here. To just rest and be held and to not have to think and fight. 

But she knows that there’s a risk she’ll ruin this if she speaks, if she has the chance to speak. She’ll probably push back. As much as she wants to give in, if she’s the ability to fight then that’s probably what she’s going to do at some point. 

“Hmm?” Hand pushes her for an answer. She shrugs, it’s the only answer she has for the woman. She doesn’t really know herself what will happen if that gag comes off. She looks down a little ashamed that she can’t give an answer even when it concerns her own behaviour, which should be well within her control. 

The press of Hand’s lips to her forehead, brief and chaste, is unexpected as is the whispered “at least you’re honest”, but the fingers reaching back into her hair to unbuckle the gag are quite as expected… and a little dreaded. She nods her head down to let Hand reach more easily to the back of her head, compliant and relaxed this time as it is removed rather than tense and fighting like on previous occasions. Hand wipes it with a tissue apparently set on the desk for just such purpose, seems she’s always prepared. Must have been a girl scout. Somehow she can’t quite imagine the woman as a child, skipping along in a girl scout uniform selling cookies. 

Hand then wipes at her mouth, brushing the trails of spit from her lips and chin, it’s humiliating but there’s a little part of her that enjoys the fact that Hand is caring for her. The larger part of her mind says she’s no choice anyway. She can’t feel guilty for conceding when there’s no other option available.

Ah… but now there is another option. Now she can speak, she can fight. She can go on the offensive again with words and give herself time to shore up the battered defences of her mind.

“I can always put it back in if you need me to,” Hand almost seems to offer rather than threaten, reading her mind before she’s even got there herself. It’s a reassurance she finds she needs. If she pushes again, Hand will simply stop her. There’s no point speaking, Hand will just gag her again, will just take away that option to resist. 

It’s a relief to be honest.

She doesn’t want this found peacefulness to end.

 

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“So, tea?” Hand asks again, bringing her thoughts back to the present from where they’ve gone a wandering without her.

She nods and speaks, swallowing slightly to bring her tongue back into working order. “A fruit tea please,” she answers quietly, intending to show proper subservience. She doesn’t want to fight. Hand waits pointedly. Then one eyebrow slowly rises up her forehead. She’s not sure what Hand is waiting for- Oh! “Madame. Sorry Madame,” she quickly corrects with a small smile that is echoed by Hand.

“Fruit tea it is then,” Hand confirms. “I don’t want to put you down but if you want to hide in the other room when Felix brings our drinks then you can do,” she offers. It’s a kind offer but she doesn’t want to move either – not just because she’s comfortable but because she knows that her mind will begin to work against this as soon as she loses the contact and they’ll probably end up fighting again if she moves for any length of time. She’s not particularly embarrassed to be caught subbing by Blake, he’s old school and he’s been on the periphery when she’s subbed before. He’ll see but he won’t speak of it outside. But it might embarrass Hand. She’s not entirely sure when she started caring about Hand’s feelings but it’s true that she doesn’t want to cause any trouble for the woman when she’s brought this … silence to her. 

“I’d like to stay, if it won’t embarrass you?” she answers uncharacteristically quiet and submissive.

Hand chuckles lightly before answering herself, “Oh there is nothing that embarrasses me about having a hot woman naked in my lap.” She ends up smiling back herself as Hand pulls her thigh, shuffling her about with her help until she’s kneeling astride Hand’s thighs facing her. She’s a little concerned at the implication of the change in position but doesn’t have chance to worry at it as Hand pulls her closer, pushing her head back down to rest against a shoulder, ending with her sprawled just as closely curled into Hand’s body and resting comfortably back in place. The hands stroking down her hair and bound arms are lulling her back into that restful place and she can’t help but let her eyes drop shut again. She feels as Hand reaches forwards to press her phone laying on the desk and speaks into it asking Felix to bring coffee and a fruit tea for ‘Agent May’ but she’s not bothering to concentrate on the minute details, preferring to leave that up to Hand to deal with as she focuses on inhaling the scent that currently comforts her – Hand.

The sound of the door opening a few minutes later makes her jump a little in surprise and as much as she thought she wouldn’t be embarrassed she does end up turning her head to hide her face in Hand’s collar. She picks up the light shudder that runs through Hand’s frame underneath her at the dance of breath across her neck and smirks a little to herself.

“Felix, thank you. You are a God send,” Hand enthuses but she’s a little more pre-occupied with the way Hand’s throat moves and thinking about how she might gasp if she were to press a tongue to taste that little patch of light skin that’s currently tormenting her eyes.

“It seems I’m not the only thing God’s sent your way today,” Felix replies obviously smiling as he sets the tray of lightly clanking cups down on the desk.

“I have been a little bles-*GASP*” Yep, good gasp. She knew it would be even as she shifted to attack that little bit of skin just peaking at the edge of Hand’s collar with tongue and lips. She’s pulled back away from her target and made to face Hand’s stern expression, belied by amused eyes. She blinks up innocently. “Melinda?” Hand stretches her name out in question. 

“I thought you’d like that, Madame,” she justifies with a smile and a poorly feigned innocence.

“Aaaaannd I can see you have your hands full so I’ll just leave these here,” Blake says with a laugh before turning to leave.

“Thank you, Felix,” Hand calls after him. “You, Melinda May, are trouble,” she says once the door’s closed.

“It’s taken you this long to work that out?” she asks with false astonishment. This easy camaraderie is nice. She hasn’t been anywhere close to joking before now.

“Should I assume spanking is back on the table?” Hand jostles back and she’s quickly backtracking in her thoughts. She doesn’t want to be spanked. Sure it wouldn’t be the end of the world - she almost trusts that Hand wouldn’t take advantage of her tears if it went that far. But she doesn’t want to ruin this… this whatever it is they have going now.

She pulls against the hands holding her away and Hand gives in, letting her curl back forwards into her body to hide her head back down against Hand’s shoulder. “No,” she mumbles into Hand’s neck sulkily once she’s squirrelled back down and arms have come up around her back to hold her tightly embraced. She’s safe here. Free. Free to play and be childish if she wants.

The light slap of a palm to her left butt cheek is more for shock effect than pain but it sounds loud in her ears. “No, what Melinda?”

“No, please don’t spank me,” she tells the skin in front of her nose, burrowing in tighter in an attempt to move away from the threat and closer into the perceived safety of Hand’s embrace despite knowing rationally that she’s probably as close as she can physically get. This isn’t about rational thoughts.

Another slap sounds and she squirms, whining in complaint “Ma-daaaaame.”

“Yes, ‘Madame’ and don’t you forget it again,” Hand rounds off and she realises that she’s left off the honorific the last few times she’s spoken.

“Yes, Madame,” she corrects trying for a breathlessly aroused tone as she presses her lips back to tease that patch of neck, suckling lightly at the slightly salty taste.

“Melinda,” Hand groans half in warning but half in encouragement she’s sure of it. 

She permitted a few more minutes of suckling and teasing with the edge of teeth at Hand’s neck dragging forth breathy gasps and light groans before a hand in her hair pulls her steadily back. She blinks up in question.

Hand’s arms forcibly remove her all the way from Hand’s lap, setting her down to stand on slightly unsteady legs, turning her to release the cuffs on her wrists then holding her steady until her balance catches up with her movement. “Tea. Now,” Hand instructs with an imperious wave towards the tray.

She smirks lightly to herself as she walks around the desk to start pouring the tea.

 

Advantage Melinda.

 

 

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She supposes she shouldn’t really be at all surprised to find a plate with an assortment of cheese, crackers and fruit piled high on the tray that Blake brought in with their drinks – the man’s a heart of gold. Her only slight concern is that Hand is more than likely going to want her to eat some of it… and well, she’s just not all that hungry to be honest. In fact, if she forces anything down into her stomach she thinks it might just come right back up again.

She tries to ignore the plate of food that’s taunting her as she carefully pours water into each of the cups. She checks back with Hand to flavour it according to her tastes, relying upon the slightest nods and shakes to add milk and a dash of sugar. She didn’t think the woman would have drunk her coffee anything but the strongest of blacks. She certainly didn’t dream that she’d add sugar to the bitter drink given her reputation. She steps lightly around the desk to deliver Hand’s coffee to her and returns to add a tea bag from the selection left thoughtfully on the tray to her own mug of hot water. She leaves the bag in, lets it sit to percolate. “Bring the plate too, Melinda,” Hand directs and from the huff of laughter that follows she may well have scowled at the plate as she carries both back around the desk. She puts the plate deliberately on the desk in front of Hand, a not so subtle statement that she sees the food as Hand’s and doesn’t want anything to do with it.

Then she moves to reclaim her place on Hand’s lap, intent upon snuggling back up warm and cosy to stay sleepy for a little while longer on her Hand shaped pillow. The palm Hand sticks out arm’s length against her chest halting her progress surprises her. She turns concerned eyes to Hand’s – why is she being refused? Has she done something wrong? She’s almost worried now that Hand has something else planned, her mind working overtime. “Kneel and drink your tea, Melinda,” Hand says but it’s still coming through the filter of her mind sounding like a rejection. She doesn’t want to kneel away from Hand, she wants to be held again. “You’re not risking us both getting scalded by sitting on my lap to drink that tea,” Hand explains even though she doesn’t have to explain her reasoning. It clarifies things nicely however for her own piece of mind – she’s not being rejected, Hand just doesn’t want her risking being scalded by playing about naked on her lap with hot tea. She sinks down to her knees on the patch of carpet directly in front of Hand’s turned chair.

She still feels bereft as she takes a quick sip from her cup. The flavour is soothing but it’s not enough, it doesn’t come close to the comfort she felt being held. She sets aside the cup on the floor next to her, shuffles forwards on her knees and places the palms of her hands on Hand’s knees. “Don’t climb up here, Melinda,” Hand warns but sets her own cup aside on the desk as though she’s preparing for her to jump up anyway. 

She’s not. She doesn’t intend to disobey Hand again, she doesn’t want to ruin whatever little peace she’s found. She pushes on Hand’s knees deliberately until Hand spreads her legs, pulls behind them until Hand shuffles forwards her expression amused waiting to see what she does next. Then she shuffles closer the fraction more to sit between Hand’s legs, letting her head rest down on one warm thigh and her arms wrap around a calf, fingers grasping at an ankle to secure it in place. She snuffles her nose on the inside of that thigh, rubs her cheek against the warm fabric and sighs in contentment. Yep, this will do just fine. She’s as close as she can physically get whilst still kneeling on the floor as instructed and although she’s doing all the holding it’s still peaceful to just kneel and snuggle.

She smiles against the thigh beneath her when a hand lays on top of her head, sighs letting the sound run down her body relaxing every muscle in turn as it starts stroking her hair. This is what she needs, she realises as she lets her mind sink back down into the comforting strokes.

“Don’t go too low, Melinda. I still want you to eat something,” Hand says quietly and she mumbles back a negative murmur – she doesn’t want to eat, she doesn’t even want to move or think or talk or anything else right now. She just wants to stay here and drift.

Something presses against her lips, forcing her to open her eyes to look up at Hand then down at the offending grape. She glares at it but it doesn’t disappear. Just sits there, held to her lips, mocking her. She’s forced to move, turning her head away to lose it, and to talk – two things she really was quite happy not doing thank you very much!

“I’m not hungry, Madame,” she tries to justify her refusal respectfully. She really doesn’t want to get in to an argument again but she’s also really not hungry.

“I didn’t ask,” Hand states bluntly and a quick check up at her face says she’s not amused by the refusal no matter how respectfully phrased. Argh, she doesn’t want to get into another argument. She was happy.

Hand presents the grape again to her lips but she avoids, turning her face down, back hunching over subconsciously expecting rejection of some form in turn for continuing to refuse the silent instruction to eat. “How long since you ate, Melinda?” Hand asks changing tack slightly.

She looks back up as she thinks it over to answer the question. She definitely had lunch because Skye made them all mac cheese and Coulson was complaining… no, wait that must have been the day before… but she definitely- “Too long then, Melinda,” Hand answers for her. Yeah, she’s probably right, her mind concedes.

Hand strokes her hair again, comforting, lulling her into compliance but she doesn’t particularly care – she’d rather be lulled than argued into compliance right now, the softer touch sits easier with her bleary thoughts. The grape is re-offered and she reaches out a hand to claim it as silently ordered but it’s withdrawn with a gentle ‘ah ah.’

She looks up in slight confusion and the hand still holding the grape skirts around her own to press it directly against her lips. She opens her mouth and lets Hand plop the grape inside, a little surprised as she bites down and chews slowly. The sweetness of the grape explodes across her tongue and her body suddenly decides that it is actually hungry but she’s a far more pressing thought on her mind for when she swallows. “You want to feed me too?” she asks half incredulous. She can’t remember the last time someone actually fed her by hand. It was probably Coulson but it’s been at least months since even he’s done it – they usually eat with the rest of the team in the common area and that’s not exactly the place to go feeding each other, especially when said team members remain blissfully unaware of anything but a professional relationship between the two of them.

Hand doesn’t answer verbally, just quirks a smile and presses a small cube of cheese to her lips, which she dutifully accepts. A palm on her head encourages her to rest her cheek back down against Hand’s thigh as she chews. The stroking over her hair resumes and after a few heart beats she lets her eyes drop closed again. She relaxes in place, curling her arm around Hand’s leg to ensure she can’t move away. She opens her mouth each time something is pressed against her lips, just opens and trusts that whatever Hand feeds her is edible. It’s much easier to eat when she doesn’t have to think about it, when she can just settle here and not think at all.

Calm and peaceful.

“Drink your tea,” Hand instructs and she’s forced to wake slightly from her almost dream state to reclaim the cup from the carpet next to her. She doesn’t have to stretch far and is back curled around Hand’s leg within moments sipping at the slightly cooler beverage as asked.

She swallows then speaks, “I thought aftercare came … well _after_.”

The hand in her hair pauses slightly, probably surprise at her speaking after so long in silence, before continuing its trail down. “Well, let’s not ruin your sense of order… let’s just call it ‘care’ shall we,” Hand responds amused.

She snorts lightly at the thought. “You don’t even know me,” she says, the implication doesn’t need spelling out all the way – you don’t know me, you don’t care for me.

This time the hand doesn’t stop stroking her hair, Hand was probably expecting this to come up at some point. Hand sees far too damned much of the workings of people’s minds. “I know you’re a sub who’s temporarily lost her master and hurting. I don’t need to know more than that to care.”

She smiles slightly at Hand’s answer, hides her face back in the leg under her head embarrassed at the care and attention she’s not entirely sure she deserves but that she knows she’s going to accept anyway.

Hand chuckles lightly at her between sips of her coffee, “You are really very sweet.” What? Sweet? She is not sweet. She looks up at Hand with a frown, communicating non-verbally again – she is not sweet. 

Hand bops her nose with a finger. Her eyes actually follow the finger right up to the end of her nose, astonishment playing hell with her ability to think. Has anyone ever dared to actually bop her on the nose? Hand laughs at her bemuddled state before speaking again, “yep, really very sweet. I didn’t expect it with your reputation, you know. I was expecting the hellcat but not the cute little-”

“So help me God, I swear if you say pussy cat you’ll end up bitten,” she threatens quickly but she doesn’t entirely mean it. She’s just been thrown a little off kilter and is scrabbling desperately to try to recover her balance. Redirect: “And anyway, speaking of reputations doesn’t yours mean that you should either be beating me to the brink of death or fucking me there?” she launches back. Better to be on the offensive while she tries to locate her army. Ah there they are over that hill – they’ve been subdued by the opposing force with promises of cuddles and kittens and all things nice.

Hand keeps laughing at her rather than biting back. “Little hellcat,” she says almost fondly, “settle down.” She’s not entirely decided if she’s going to follow that instruction or turn this back into a fight to defend her prickled pride when the decision is more or less taken away from her. Her upper arm pulled, hauling her upwards to stand, setting the now empty cup aside on the desk as she simply blinks, and pulling her forwards to kneel in her new almost favourite place astride Hand’s lap and cuddled into her body with arms wrapped about her back enfolding her. It’s a sneaky little move, her mind reports but it’s with a rueful smile rather than upset that she thinks it. She can’t find the energy to want to get upset about anything when she’s held like this.

“Maybe next time,” Hand replies and even her own thoughts can’t make up their mind whether that’s a threat or a promise. “Little hellcat,” Hand tacks on the end dropping a kiss to her forehead. Ah, there are worse names to be called, she decides, letting her eyes fall shut.

“When you master is back I’ll fuck you through so many orgasms that you’ll be begging me to stop,” Hand continues her whispered threats with amusement.

“You could fuck me now,” she suggests sleepily. She’s certainly content here drowsing but if orgasms are back on the table then it’d be churlish to refuse… and well she’d like for Hand to get something out of this too.

“I’m not sleeping with you, Melinda. Stop asking,” Hand’s answer is firm and as much as she doesn’t want to pick at it and further ruin the camaraderie they have going her mind won’t let her just leave it alone.

“You don’t want to fuck me?” she asks point blank, unsure when she stopped feeling relaxed but noting now how the muscles down her back have tensed.

“You’re actually hurt that I won’t sleep with you?” Hand asks in return, incredulous. It makes her wonder absently if Hand has actually answered any of her questions all evening or has simply re-directed. Bloody spies.

“No,” is her immediate answer. She’s not hurt that the woman doesn’t want to fuck her. She’s not. She doesn’t get hurt about things like that. If she’s not attractive to Hand then so be it. It’s a fact she can live with. In fact, before today she’d have said that was a good thing, reassuring that she wouldn’t be a potential target for the woman rather than the disappointment it is now. Disappointment? “Maybe,” she corrects aloud.

“Melinda, don’t fish. You know you’re gorgeous. Of course I want to sleep with you.” Oh. “But I’m not taking advantage when you’re upset,” Hand finishes. Oh indeed.

“You know,” she says uncurling slightly to kneel up high so that their faces are almost at the same level, close enough that their lips are only a breath apart, “I’m not upset any more…”

“No and that’s final. Now sit down, hellcat, and let me just enjoy holding you,” Hand says and she shuffles back around to obey without stealing the kiss she’s half surprised to find she’d quite like to steal. “ _You_ know, when we get your Master back the first thing I’m doing is asking his permission to beat your ass for causing me so much damn trouble,” Hand says as calmly as she might be talking about the weather.

It makes her smile. Oh not the threat! But the phrasing – the ‘when’, not ‘if’ but ‘when’. And the ‘we’. That certainly gives her hope.

“We, Madame?” she asks quickly. “Does that mean you’ll let my team help with the operation?” she pushes a little, more to the point she knows she can get away with pressing for an answer now that they’ve reached an understanding.

“I’d really rather not have this discussion while you’re naked in my lap,” Hand says steadily taking another sip from what can only be cold coffee by now.

“Would you rather I stand or get dressed?” she quickly quips, making as if to rise. The palm on the top of her head pushes her lightly back down and she struggles to conceal the twitch of her lips trying to make it to a smile.

“Your agents, yes. I can use two good specialists on the op. Your scientists stay grounded but they can have access to the intel, see if they can add anything of use,” Hand says between sips. There’s one notable exception to that short list.

“And Skye?” she asks trying to appear detached.

“The Rising Tide hacker that’s already betrayed Shield twice and is currently wearing a nanny bracelet?” Hand’s irritated tone makes clear already exactly what she thinks of Skye and that any involvement by the hacker will be over her dead body.

“I find ‘Skye’ is shorter,” she quips trying to lighten the tone again. Arguing for Skye’s involvement when Hand is riled up will just make her dig her heels in harder, she’s learned that much from this encounter at least.

Hand hmphs and goes back to concentrating on her coffee as though it’s a religious worship.

“The girl is good at what she does,” she starts to justify quietly but keeps her tone moderated and her eyes cast down to watch Hand’s shoulder. “She’s an excellent hacker-”

“Criminal,” Hand corrects. She doesn’t challenge that, even though the label sounds unnecessarily harsh in her own ears. She might not particularly like the girl but she’s hardly a criminal. She lets the silence grow slightly.

“She’s come through for us before-” she tries again.

“She’s also betrayed that trust,” Hand corrects more firmly.

“Yes, she has,” she concedes. She’s not sure quite why but she feels the need to defend that girl’s actions even though at the time she’d felt the justification poor to say the least, “but she did it to help a friend she thought was in trouble and-”

“And nothing. You don’t trust someone who betrays you. Not ever. Coulson should have kicked her off this plane, without necessarily waiting for it to land, like everyone else told him to at the first sign of betrayal!” Hand half snarls, setting aside her mug on the desk with a thump that ends this discussion. She wonders who betrayed Hand in her past to make her so angry about betrayal. Sure, no one likes betrayal and it’s upsetting but this sudden anger when nothing she’s done to push the woman has garnered more than a flicker of irritation makes her wonder. 

The matter is closed as far as Hand is concerned, that much is clear as she is ignored again whilst Hand reaches forwards around her to log out the pads on the desk. Oh sure, she could push it again, especially now she knows there’s nothing really to fear from Hand. She was foolish really to think that there ever was, she realises. But if she pushes it too far then Hand may well rescind her current orders to keep the rest of them in the loop.

Skye’s better outside the system anyway. If she hacked Shield from a van with a laptop she won in a bet (oh how many times has she heard that!) then Skye can certainly hack the records she needs to track down Centipede and Coulson’s location without Shield’s computer system. She just needs to get her a lead… enough information to set her in the right direction and to convince her to call once she has a location for back up… an encrypted cell will let her get in one call before the bracelet shuts it off. Simmons she’ll use as the intermediary, Skye trusts Simmons.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed. We’ve an early briefing scheduled in the morning,” Hand says, nudging her up to stand. 

“Yes, Madame,” she replies quickly obedient, lowering her eyes to the carpet to hide the plans forming in her thoughts. 

They need everyone working to rescue Coulson, Skye included. The girl has skills with computers that Shield cannot replicate.

It feels wrong to be thinking, plotting really, to work around Hand so soon. Hand’s been kind to her, cared … and this is how she repays it? The guilt tastes bitter on the back of her tongue. But there are more important considerations. Far more important ones - she’ll take feeling guilty if it means rescuing Coulson. 

She’s enjoyed her momentary peace. 

Now it’s over.

Time to get back to work.

 

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“Turn around.” It’s simple to follow Hand’s instructions now. Fingers run gentle and ticklish across her waist where the rope is still tied before dropping down following the line between her ass cheeks and pull lightly teasing on the hook still buried in her ass as a constant reminder that Hand can re-tie her and make her vulnerable again at any time. “Do you still need the reminder to behave?” Hand asks her as though genuinely interested in the answer.

She twists back to look over her shoulder with a slight smile. With all these plans going on in her mind...?

“Probably.”

 

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Definitely advantage Melinda.

If only the victory didn’t feel so hollow…


End file.
